


no tears left to cry

by wakandawinterprincess



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Deviates From Canon, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Not Infinity War compliant, Not even remotely so, PWP, She's not a teenager in this, because no one knows whats happening anymore, because sometimes... it be like that, duh - Freeform, its :) fine :), so bugger off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 20:51:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14901785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandawinterprincess/pseuds/wakandawinterprincess
Summary: Set sometime in the distant future. Bucky left Wakanda to be Captain America, while Shuri is Queen and current owner of the Black Panther mantle. The two had a fallout under mysterious circumstances and lost contact years ago, and the world as they knew it crumbled around them. Now, just days before her politically-driven wedding, Bucky Barnes decides to make an appearance. But it won't be without consequence, and will force both to uncover a painful part of their past.





	no tears left to cry

 Queen Shuri, ruler of Wakanda and current owner of the Black Panther title, is neck-deep in a supremely important _catering_ meeting with her wedding planners when one of the Dora interrupts with a message.

“Your highness, you have a visitor.” 

Shuri raises a brow. While the announcement is something of a reprieve (she _cannot_ look at dessert options any longer), she was also decidedly not expecting to see any visitors this close to her big day. Indeed, most of her time had been consumed by these last-minute preparations.

Weddings were logistical nightmares, comparable to any technical systems she’d ever deployed. Who would have guessed? 

Shuri herself would not have cared so much for it, but she knew that this wedding _mattered_ to her people. The alliance was strategically beneficial for Wakanda. Plus, after a dismal few years, the wedding would be _just_ the morale boost the country needed. She could feel the tangible excitement in the air. And so, she’d thrown herself into the work, hoping to distract her mind from the unsettling reality of, well, actually _getting_ married.

Her own feelings on it aside, one thing was clear. Announcements for the royal wedding -- indeed, the wedding of the _century_ \-- had been spread far and wide. All foreign diplomats had been politely informed to postpone their affairs with her to a few days after the ceremony. 

So whoever this visitor was… they were being incredibly gutsy, to say least.

Shuri turns to her, frowns in confusion. “Who is it?”

The guard looks at her, and Shuri can see some mixture of awkwardness and regret dancing on her features. It’s a look she hasn’t seen on anyone in her staff in quite some time.

_Could it be…?_

“James Buchanan Barnes, your highness.”

 

_Bucky._

A name she hadn’t heard in years, and one she’d tried so _desperately_ to forget.

_What in Bast’s name...?_

She struggles to shake off the look of sudden vulnerability and shock on her face, but her mind is racing with questions. Of just why he would be back after so long. Of why he wanted to see her at all. Of why, for that matter, he seemed to have assumed she would want to see _him_.

But of _course_ , she thinks, she would see him. She would always make time for him.

Even after all these years, he has the same damn effect on her. She _hates_ him for it.

Shuri finally manages to compose her face into something more neutral. Safe. 

“Please send him to my study. I will speak to him there.”

The Dora nods in affirmation. She’s nearly out of the room when Shuri adds --

“Oh, and please -- no guards.”

A pause. It seems to stretch for an eternity.

“Are you sure, your highness?”, she asks.

It’s not out of fear for her safety, Shuri knows. It’s for _his_.

She speaks again, hoping her face and voice don’t betray just how _angry_ , how _shaken_ she truly is.

“Yes.”

The Dora nods and turns, sweeping out of the room.

 

* * *

 

As she walks down the hall to the study, Shuri finds herself fuming. She hasn’t seen Bucky Barnes in years, and _now_ he decided to come back to Wakanda? 

She has half a mind to enter the study yelling. Screaming.

How _dare_ he waltz back, unannounced? 

 _No_. She’s not going to get angry at him until the door is shut and locked, she decides.

Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and pushes the door open.

Bucky’s _there_ , standing by her desk.

She knew he would be, had braced herself for it. But she’s still struck when she sees him.

It’s been years, but not much has changed, appearance-wise. Perhaps the most notable change is, oddly enough, in his _hair._ The stress of taking on the mantle of Captain America had clearly taken its toll on him, even with super soldier serum flowing through his blood. She can see the beginnings of a salt and pepper ‘do, smattered in his still-long hair and stubbly beard.

She hates that despite it, he somehow looks even _more_ handsome than she remembered.

The worst, of course, is when she finally meets his eyes. His _damn_ eyes.

Those truly _never_ changed. Steel blue eyes, with occasional touches of gray. 

She’d recognize them anywhere. Those _damn_ eyes had burned themselves into her memory. Haunted her dreams in a way she’d never admit to a single living soul.

He turns to her fully, holds her gaze for a moment that feels like it stretches into eternity.

She swallows painfully. Affixes a fake smile to her face.

“Bucky. To what do I owe the honor?” 

He ignore the jab. Replies to her question with a different one.

“Do you love him?” 

The way he asks -- it’s calm, soft, unassuming. But his face says something else entirely. 

Shuri _hates_ that she can’t place the emotion behind it.

She dodges the question as smoothly as he’d dodged hers. She doesn’t owe him any answers.

“Why do you care?” she snaps.

“Because I care about you.” he tells her patiently.

She scoffs.

“Forgive me, but I somehow doubt that.”

_You had no problem leaving me all those years ago._

“Tell me, and be honest — why are you here, Bucky?”

His face falls for a moment, and she _swears_ she catches a flicker of sadness before it reverts to the same calm, cool facade he’d started with.

“I wanted to see you, one last time.”

“You had plenty of opportunities before.” she shoots back. “Why now?”

She knows the timing of his visit and the wedding is no coincidence. But she wants to hear him _say_ it, damn it!

He evades it, again. 

“I’ve been…” -- she can see him struggle to find the right word -- “... _busy_.”

“ _Busy?_ ”

Shuri laughs derisively at how utterly _lame_ that excuse is.

“No. You had to go off and be a _hero_.” she snarls, and she can’t help but relish, in some twisted way, the way the venom drips off her words.

“You didn’t _have_ to go.” she continues. “Wakanda was flourishing. You had a new life, a new identity, as White Wolf. Our citizens _loved_ you.”

She pauses, reflects for a moment. It still baffles her how peaceful things had been before he left. How prosperous. How simple.

Of _course_ , she thinks. Of _course_ , it had been too good to last.

“So what was it, Bucky? A sudden, renewed patriotism for a country you hadn’t stepped in for the better part of a century? The noble desire to suddenly be Captain America, even though no one was asking you to take on the role?”

She wants to add a jab about just how many _years_ it had been after Steve’s death, how truly pitiful of an excuse accepting the mantle was for him to leave, but she bites her tongue. Even in her anger, she would not stoop so low. Steve Rogers deserved better.

As it were, it seems that the implication went unsaid. He looks back, stunned into silence.

 _Good_ , she thinks. 

“That’s not the reason why you left.”

She steels herself to say the words that come out next.

“No. You left because five years ago, in this _very_ study, I told you that I _loved_ you. _You_ pushed me away.” 

There it is. At last. The truth of what had happened, hanging out in the air between them like a fog in a room. 

Shuri inhales deeply. Blinks away the sudden tears at the corner of her vision, tries to keep composed. This is the first time she’s telling him everything she’s ever wanted to yell to his face, and on her own terms at that, but _Bast_ , it hurts her more than she can say.

She pulls herself together and continues.

“You were my first love, Bucky. I’m sure you guessed as much.” 

She sees a look on his face that she can’t decipher. She keeps going.

“It would have been easy to get over you if I didn’t know you felt the same way. But you did. And you lied to my face, anyways.”

He had. And the tragedy was, if she hadn’t known him so well she might have believed him. Might have been better off, that way.

“The idea of falling in love with you -- that made me _brave_. It gave me _hope_.”

“But you? You were scared. You were a _coward_.”

He says nothing to that. Keeps the all-too-calm facade trained on his face. Just as a soldier would.

She laughs, bitterly.

“And now, it’s too late. I marry in three days. _Three. Days._ ”

She finishes, voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper --

“So tell me, Bucky -- what do you have to say for yourself?”

 

He locks eyes with her again before he speaks.

“I did what I thought what was right.” he says, simply.

As if that somehow explained it all.

Bucky continues.

“Falling in love would have been a betrayal of everything you and your brother had done for me. I loved Wakanda and its people, but I still heard the whispers. The rumors of the growing closeness between the Princess and the White Wolf. The audacity he’d had in seducing her, instead of letting her marry a perfectly noble Wakandan man. The scandal it would cause.”

He pauses suddenly, as if debating what to say next. But he continues.

“You and T’Challa… you were the only family I had, after everyone I ever knew and loved had left me for good. Of _course_ I couldn’t betray my family.”

“Family.” She spits the word out, laughs sardonically at that. What a _brilliant_ deflection. 

“After all you’ve put me through — you want me to call you _family_?” 

Shuri grits her teeth. Hisses out her next words.

“T’Challa _died_. You didn’t come back even then.”

The flash of pain she sees across his face — _oh_. It’s genuine, for sure. That gives her a modicum of satisfaction, bittersweet as it is. He looks like he’s about to say something, explain himself, but she cuts him off. 

“Save your excuses. I don’t give a damn.”

It’s probably unfair. But she can’t find it in herself to care. And she _doesn’t_ want to give him an excuse to change the topic.

“News spread of Wakanda’s destabilization at the hands of the man called Doctor Doom. Again, radio silence from you. You were off saving the western world from petty criminal gangs and weapons dealers. Because priorities, right?”

She steels her jaw. Looks him right in the eyes, forces him to meet her gaze.

 _“I_ rebuilt my kingdom from the ashes.  _I_ forged the alliance behind the marriage.” 

“But yes, _James_ ” — she sees him flinch at the name he so despises — “if you want to be my family so bad, then yes, let’s make it happen.” 

She puts on a tone of mock-concern, sarcasm dripping in her voice.

“Oh darn, _whatever_ shall you be? My brother? My uncle? My _father_?”

She snorts.“Well, they’re all dead anyways. I’m sure they won’t mind.”

His jaw drops at that. The dead are never so lightly spoken of in Wakanda. 

Shuri ignores his shock and continues, full steam ahead.

“Hell, _James_ , why don’t you fully dedicate to the role and _walk me down the aisle_ , huh?”

“Oh _please_ , Captain America” — she imitates a high pitched, flowery American accent for extra effect — “deliver me to my groom, my future husband.”

“In _fact_...” — her voices pitches somehow higher in anger — “...fuck it, let’s go old school.” 

“ _Perhaps_ ...”-- she draws the word out long enough to hopefully get on his nerves -- “... _perhaps_ you’d like to watch us consummate, too?”

She cocks her head, as if she’s actually considering it.

“It’s a little _medieval_ for my tastes _,_ personally _._ But you’re old as _hell_ and we are, after all, _family_. _”_

 

Shuri finally sees his jaw tense. Sees how positively angry, _disgusted_ he looks, at the thought of watching her with someone else.

“Oh, _don’t_ .” she spits out at him.“Sex? That’s what married people _do_.”

 _Good_ , she thinks. Let him think about her being with someone else. Kissing someone else. Crying someone else’s name out.

A part of her brain thinks it’s unnecessarily cruel. But she doesn’t care anymore. She’s pushing every last button she can think of. She needs to get something — _anything_ — out of him.

But he’s rearranged his face into that cold, calm expression again. And in a split second, she decides she’s _done_ with it. Done with him.

She steps forward slowly, deliberately. He hates being in small spaces. She’s going to invade his anyways.

“Get. _Out_.” she snaps.

He meets her eyes, bracing beneath her.

“No.” he mutters.

She cocks an eyebrow, shocked.

“ _What?_ ”

“I’m sorry, you _don’t_ want me to walk you down the aisle?” he shoots back, eyes flashing.

The question bears no humor in it, just the same bitterness she’s been throwing at him for the last few minutes. The icy facade he’s been holding seems to have finally melted.

He just looks _angry_.

She steps closer, so she’s just one heated, impulsive breath away from his face.

“Sorry. I changed my mind, after all. You’re _not_ my family.”

 

_And you never will be._

 

 At last, he snaps. She’s been encroaching into his space. Now, he advances into _hers_.

He’s so _close_ she can see every detail of his face -- the fierce twitch of his jaw, the furrow of his brows, the way his eyes have practically clouded over, grey with sudden, righteous fury.

She lets her eyes drop down to his lips, shameless and greedy, because she doesn’t _care_ anymore. Whatever her desire for him, how much ever she hates herself for it, she _knows_ he won’t kiss her. He doesn’t have the _guts_. 

Shuri meets his eyes, as if to challenge him to contradict her thoughts. 

“You’re _not_ my family.” she repeats, as harshly as she’s able. _Fuck you._

He gets the message. Her silent challenge. 

She _knows_ that she’s finally tipped him over the edge. 

She sees him seethe with fury for a moment, before he moves half a breath _closer_.

“You’re _right_ , Shuri.” he growls. “I’m _not_.”

 

And then he catches her mouth with his, kisses her so fiercely and so _hungrily_ she nearly cries out in surprise.

Not to be outdone, she breaks away, only to bite down on his lower lip, _hard_. He moans into her mouth when she does and deepens their kiss into something _else_ . Something hot and desperate and _urgent_.

And a part of her brain thinks that she shouldn’t be reciprocating, that he doesn’t _deserve_ to have her, even if she wants him to. But then he breaks away to press a harsh kiss to her neck, all tongue and scraping teeth, and she realizes that try as she might, she doesn’t have a brain _left_ to think with. 

The next few minutes are a blur of furious kissing, relentless tugging at hair and clothes and skin. _Somehow_ , at some point, she pushed him into her chair and sat on his lap, all logic thrown out of the window.

She doesn’t slow down, not once. Refuses to let him slow it down, either. Because Shuri knows where this is headed. 

This isn’t going to be the two of them making _love_.

Hell, it’s not even a confession of hidden feelings. No.

 This is going to be a _fuck_ , plain and simple.

And she’ll be _damned_ if she doesn’t do it on her terms.

On instinct more than anything else, Shuri reaches down now, slips her hand under his waistband and palms him. He shudders beneath her and groans into her mouth, bucks against her all too willingly. Suddenly, _he’s_ the vulnerable one, entirely at her mercy as she wraps her fingers around him, pushes _him_ closer to the edge. She _relishes_ it, even smirks against his mouth.

She almost _has_ him.

Almost.

He finally comes back to his senses and swats her hand away. And she thinks, for a moment, that maybe he’s going to stop this, put an end to this foolishness they’ve been indulging in.

But instead, he runs his hands up her hips,  and in a single, fluid motion, carries her to her desk. Lifts her onto it, presses her down so her back is against the flat surface.

It’s gentle. _Reverential_.

Anger floods her system.

No, she thinks. He doesn’t get to slow things down. Doesn’t get to worship her.

 

_Time to finish this._

 

Shuri grabs him by the nape of his neck and pulls him to her so he can’t _move_ , can only lock eyes with her in sudden confusion. With her other hand, she reaches down and quickly frees him, guides him into her before he can even _register_ what she’s done.

In spite of the suddenness of it all, they both moan _together_ when he enters her. For a single moment, Shuri’s mind goes completely blank. She swallows thickly, tries to ignore just how _right_ it feels to have him inside her. 

She doesn’t bother letting him adjust. She just rolls her hips under him, confident that it will be enough to send him into overdrive.

 

It is.

 

A growl rips itself from his throat, and then he’s pulling away from her, then back in, over and over. She gasps and meets him halfway, throws herself into a kiss that is rough and open-mouthed and _filthy_.

He kisses her back, and she takes a twisted delight in the way she can feel _everything_ \--  the liquid tension of his muscles as he moves over her, his heated frame against hers, a numbing buildup of pleasure that threatens to wipe all rational thought from her mind. She locks her legs around him and matches his strokes beneath him, winds her hands in his hair and tugs _hard_.

As it turns out, he’s just as relentless as she is. And for a brief instant, Shuri almost loses herself and gasps his _name_ . It’s on the _tip_ of her tongue, and it takes all of her self control to stop herself. To not to cry his name out, plaintive and pleading, just as she had on so many cold nights alone, with only her fingers and her fantasies to bring herself to completion.

Instead, she bites down on her lower lip. Keeps the truth to herself, as if her life depends on it. Because it sure _feels_ like it does.

 

Once she can center herself again, Shuri turns her attentions to him. Focuses on how to make him lose control, drive _him_ over the edge.

Bucky’s going to be a challenge, no doubt. He’s been remarkably adept at dodging everything she’d done, so far. It’s been driving her _crazy_ , and it’s sure as hell enough to make her angry.

 

Shuri wants to make him _pay_. And she’s going to.

Fury rekindled, she claws her nails into his bare back, hard enough to draw _blood_.

He hisses angrily. _Success_ , she thinks.

In an _instant_ , he grabs the hand she scratched him with and pins it over her head. Presses her further into the table with his hips.

_Damn him._

In one last, futile attempt, she unwinds one leg from around his waist. Lifts it, slowly, teasingly, so that it rises past his waist. Past his chest. 

He takes the hint. Smoothly throws one leg over his shoulder. Then the other.

And just like that, with her legs over his shoulders, he changes the angle of his thrusts. Suddenly, he’s hitting some place deep, pushing forward with a heated, primal frenzy. It’s so sudden and so damn _hot_ that it makes her head roll back and her gasps pitch higher.

And she _knows_ they’re careening towards the end of this, but she doesn’t care anymore. Simply arches her back and gives in to the sheer _overload_ of sensations, riding it out until the stars burst behind her eyes and she has nothing left to give or take.

Bucky comes after her, one hand curled _desperately_ into her hip and the other still pinning her down. He shudders violently, comes with such _force_ that she almost melts into euphoria again.

But then, he does something that surprises her. 

After he’s ridden out his own orgasm, Bucky leans down, closes his eyes, and rests his head on her shoulder. Takes a few deep, staggering breaths before he pulls away, opens his eyes, and gazes down at her. It’s the same steel blue eyes she’s seen all her life, caught with her own, but with a piercing honesty she’s _never_ seen from him. And it takes her damn _breath_ away. 

It’s such a simple, vulnerable moment that she can’t _help_ what she does next. 

She kisses him. Slowly. Softly. _Tenderly_.

For just one moment, she closes her eyes and memorizes what it might be like, to really _love_ him, roughly and then gently, all at once. To feel his lips against hers, the stubble of his beard tickling her face, their still-racing hearts beating _together_.

It feels _incredible_. She could spend an eternity like this.

And then, the moment passes.

Shuri pulls away.

Slowly, she unwinds from him. Immediately, she’s struck at how acutely she feels him _gone_.

She _hates_ how her body revolts at the sensation, at the emptiness when he’s not inside her. His absence has every cell in her body is _screaming_. 

It would be so _easy_ to give in, now that she’s finally had her fill of him.

To _forgive_ him. To let him back into her life.

 

But she _can’t_.

 

She can feel the truth of what she’s about to do -- no, what she _must_ do -- infiltrating her bloodstream like poison.

Oh, _Bast_. This is going to take the strength from every last cell of her body.

Shuri wants desperately to break down, to _cry_. She doesn’t _want_ to do this.

This man, flaws and all, is the love of her _life_. He’s etched himself into her heart in a way she’ll never be able to understand or explain.

And she has to let him _go_.

 

For the good of her nation, and her own heart -- she _must_.

 

Unaware of her internal battle, Bucky gazes down at her with a soft, sudden fondness. She can recognize the look on his face now -- he looks at her like he’s had a _revelation._

He starts to speak. His voice is quiet, gentle. 

“ _Shuri_ — I…”

 

She closes her eyes. Makes her decision, in the fraction of a second.

Cuts him off, with two simple words --

“Get. _Out_.”

The words hang in the air between them. Cold. Unforgiving. 

Their intent, clear as _day_.

He looks back at her, stunned into silence.

She sees the beginnings of protest on his lips, the flurry of hurt on his face, as he prepares to argue with her.

She cuts him off, hissing a threat through her teeth — “ _Don’t_ make me call the Dora.”

A pause stretches between them, and then, Shuri makes what must be a declaration or a plea or _both_ \--

 

“You made your decision years ago.

Now let me make **mine**.”

 

_Allow me the dignity of my choice. Just as I allowed you yours._

 

Bucky says nothing. He trains his face back into the cold facade he wore before, but not before she catches a very familiar look cross his face. It mirrors what she _knows_ her own face looked like when he’d left her in this study, all those years ago.

It looks like _heartbreak._

He grabs his things wordlessly and leaves. She watches, too numb to register any of it.

It’s not until the door is locked and shut that Shuri drops to her knees, picks up the shattered pieces of her heart, and sobs until she has no tears left to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment, it's always appreciated :) and if you wanna chat, I'm @wakandawinterprincess on Tumblr, too!


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